


A Proper Northerner

by Rohirrim_Writer



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28949586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rohirrim_Writer/pseuds/Rohirrim_Writer
Summary: Fanwork about the Game of Thrones x Frozen fanfiction written by RonnieWriting featuring Original Character Maarja created by RonnieWriting.
Kudos: 2





	A Proper Northerner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RonnieWriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieWriting/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Tide of Ice and Blood (Beta)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23559538) by [RonnieWriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieWriting/pseuds/RonnieWriting). 



Maarja was old enough to remember Solstice celebrations. She could remember the flowers, collected from the meadows and bundled into small nosegays. She remembered the music pouring through the village. She remembered laughter and light. She remembered games and competition. 

What she could not remember she gleaned from stories at her father’s feet by the hearth. He told stories of wrestling matches that left a man covered in mud from head to toe, more unrecognizable than when the snow and frost would cling to his furs and face until he could not be told from the drifts. 

Those who came from the ring victorious would be covered in blood and mud to kiss their opponents upon the brow. It was there that he had first seen their mother. Maarja had seen the scars upon her arm from the right of passage. She had looked as a shield-maiden from the Gods he said. 

Maarja’s skin bore no such marks. There had not been a celebration of that kind for sometime. 

The winter years had grown greater in number, until summer years were all but a distant memory. Diina was one of the last children to be born of a summer year, with hair fair like summer straw and sunlight. All Maarja had ever truly known was the cold of the winter and the embrace of snow. 

Steeped in the tales of her mother’s triumphs, Maarja grew up stubborn. If her mother could wrestle boars in her youth, then Maarja could do a man’s work too. She was never denied. She joined the hunts with her brothers and learned to carve long boats and scrimshaw bone. 

She grew like them, in more one ways than one. 

As her brothers grew older their eyes went to the women of the village. Maarja’s eyes followed. They lingered on their forms, so different than her own. Every body in the north knew hard work, they were strong and well formed. Maarja was tall and strong, she had seen her reflection in the pools of water before bathing. She looked fair to the eye but lacked any delicate charm. 

There were women in the village who had hands like harp’s players. They learned needlepoint far finer than hers, weaving beautiful scenes in tapestries and motifs along their hems to impress suitors. Maarja’s own needlework was to ward and protect. 

Her brother’s noticed her lingering eye and encouraged her, but it was more difficult for a woman to win a woman’s affections. Maarja knew only that men had no appeal to her, not what she wanted from the fairer sex. 

The first lover she took was a man. He treated her well and was nice to look at, but each night after he left her bed and she tried to imagine waking every day with him by her side, she could see only blackness, as if the future lay behind fog. 

Maarja drank strange tea and read fire, all she could to discern what the Gods might have in store, but she saw only the mist. 

Her life continued much the same as it always had. She grew older and her brother’s and sisters lives moved forward without her. She occasionally worked at her mother’s side to fill the hours. 

“ **You must wrap the bundle just so, or it will not burn evenly.** ” Bulda demonstrated the proper way as she spoke. She handed it to her to finish. 

A great thundering banging on the door stopped their work. 

“ **Gotthi! Come quickly, a creature with the sickness has attacked. My sister she-** ” The boy didn’t have time to finish before Bulda was already in action.

“ **Maarja, we need** **Curcumin** **, Willow Bark, and Pine Bark.** ” Bulda stood to collect her tools for cleansing of the wounds and wrapped them in hide, placing them in her reed basket. 

The young boy of no more than ten led them at a near run to their lodging. Blood painted the snow leading to the house. 

“ **We must boil the snow where her blood has fallen, collect every drop. This will be your job, my boy.** ” Bulda said with a hand upon his shoulder. It would give him something to do while they tended his sisters wounds and sickness before it went to her brain. 

“ **Yes, Gotthi. I can do it.** ” He spoke with all the surety of a man. His chest swelled with pride at the task. 

They entered the house then. The scent of metallic iron was strongest here, where the woman sat shivering, despite being far too close to the fire. The lodge had one room, and holes between the logs where it had been ill-built and ill-maintained. 

“ **Dear child, what is your name?** ” Bulda spoke as she crouched beside her. 

“ **Helená.** ”  _ Bright, shining light _ . The words spoke true as Maarja came to face her more fully. Framed by light it seemed to come through her, emanating from her, rather than behind her. 

“ **I heard you had quite the adventure.** ” Maarja’s mother teased, though she felt the tension in the air, the underlying current of stress. 

“ **I was just trying to protect my brother.** ” She whispered. Maarja saw now the pallor to her skin and the glaze to her eyes. She had gone into shock. Bulda would try and keep her talking.

“ **A noble cause** .” Maarja spoke before she realized she was doing so.

The girl looked to her for the first time. She really wasn’t a girl. She was a woman, probably close to Isa in years. She didn’t look away, staring until Maarja squirmed under her scrutiny. 

“ **Now child, show me where the wild thing got you.** ” Bulda prompted, hand upon her cheek, to draw her focus back. 

“ **It was not just once, Gotthi. I had to wrestle it to the ground.** ” She seemed to quiver at the memory of it as if she didn’t quite believe the thing was gone and she wouldn’t have to do so again. 

“ **And what did you do once you had him pinned?** ” Maarja asked. It would do no good to have the beast live, roaming close to livestock and people. They’d have to send out a hunting party to find it. 

“ **I beat him to death with my fists Gotthi.** ” She held out her hands, where the skin was split and the knuckles misshapen. The image of such fierce little hands abused turned Maarja’s stomach. 

“ **By the Mother, child.** ” Even Bulda was aghast. 

“ **I could not let it hurt a child.** ” Not just her brother, she must have been thinking of the Jorgsson home a few hundred feet away. They had six children who liked to make forts outside in the snow. 

“ **You will need to strip, your wounds are excessive.** ” Bulda’s hands flitted over her body, finding each stain of blood, whether from the rabid beast, or her own, it was hard to tell. 

“ **Is that-might we do it without?** ”Her eyes darted to Maarja and a blush painted her cheeks.

“ **I’m afraid not my dear, your wounds must all be cleaned. It will not be painless.** ” It wasn’t Bulda’s way to mince words. 

Helená stood slowly to strip the bloodstained garments from her body. Maarja averted her eyes out of deference. She would see her naked either way, but it felt too intimate to watch her swollen and bloodied hands undo the strings.. 

When Maarja turned back she was stripped bare. Maarja noticed the gashes and marks of teeth up and down her arms first. Blood streaked from the weeping wounds onto the rammed earth floor. There were scratches along her shoulders, breast, and belly. 

Maarja remembered the stories of women wrestling wild beasts and being painted with blood. She imagined those were women strong like her and her mother. Not like this Lily-of-the-valley. Yet, she had conquered. She stood now, like a victor in the ring before the women who bore witness to her fury. 

“ **Maarja, begin making the paste and heat the blade.** ” Bulda directed and Maarja tore her eyes from her supple skin.

Helená’s battle had just begun. She would have to bear the sting of witch hazel, the scalding blade, and the healing paste before she would be free to leave the arena of pain. Maarja pitied her. 

She also admired her greatly. She watched Helená bite down on a strip of leather as her mother cleaned the wounds with astringents. She felt a rising anger that such a creature should know such pain, but such was their way of life. Maarja ground her fury into the pestle, making a good, fine paste for her wounds.

She brought it with the knife, glowing red hot in the low light of the windowless building. Helená’s eyes betrayed her fear and Maarja could not help but smooth the matted hair from her forehead. She savored the touch of the woman’s fine hair under fingertips. 

“ **You have been brave, shining light, but you must be strong a little longer. You have protected your brother from your fate, but now you must protect your own life and stay strong.** ” This pain would save her, but at great cost. Men had bitten off their tongues from such pain. 

“ **Maarja, hold her down, daughter.** ” Maarja moved to kneel behind her where she lay upon the floor. She placed her strong hands upon her shoulders and she met the girl’s eyes once again. She had no choice. Their eyes were still locked when the blade fell upon her the first time. 

She screamed, a sound muffled by the leather piece in her mouth, that wrenched Maarja’s very soul. She sounded like a muzzled dog under the whip. Her tears fell freely as her eyes begged Maarja to make it stop. Maarja knew it would only be a matter of time before the pain became too great for her to bear and she would slip from consciousness. 

Her body wearied of it’s ragged straining against Maarja’s hands until all she could manage was a feeble twitch by the time Bulda was done. She blinked blearily, as if she was in the halls of the ancestors, before coming back to them. 

“ **It is done child.** ” Bulda spoke, setting aside the cursed weapon. They needed to apply the bark paste now. She would have to drink a foul tasting tea of turmeric thrice a day for a week as well. 

Bulda and Maarja worked together over her limp body to bandage each wound, even the tiniest scratch. Helená looked on sometimes comprehending and sometimes not. 

“ **Have the Gods sent me a valkyria to carry me to my ancestors?** ” Helená’s head fell to the side to look at Maarja. She slurred her speech like a drunkard. 

“ **I am no valkyria and you are not going to die, Helená.** ” She knew herself to be a handsome woman, but the flattery of this woman meant more than the bumbling advances of boys and the vulgar advances of men. 

“ **When you speak my name it does not feel so.** ” Helená reached out, as if to touch her, before stopping short of her skin. 

“ **Helená?** ” Maarja voiced her concern.

“ **When you say it my heart ceases to beat in my chest and I have such longing, I know it must be for death** .” Maarja blushed bright red, eyes darting to her mother who knelt beside her, watching the entire exchange. 

“ **That’s not-** ” Maarja tried to correct her. 

“ **Drink this child and you may sleep. You will not feel so close to your end when you wake** .” Bulda brought the cup to her lips, as her hands were too swollen to hold the cup on her own without steady hands and a firm grip. 

“ **And will she be here when I do? Or will I wake to find she has been a hallucination in my suffering?** ” She did not take her piercing gaze from Maarja as she said it. 

“ **Maarja is as real as you or I child, I have the marks of birth upon my body to show it.** ” Maarja wondered how her dark eyes could carry so much light.  _ Shining, bright light _ . 

“ **Then I will sleep Gotthi.** ” She finally did as she was told and drank her tea with little more than a grimace. They helped her to her bed, an ancient, lumpy thing. 

When she finally had done as she promised Maarja’s mother turned to her. 

“ **You must stay, so that when she wakes you can tend to her. See to her brother, that he has warm bone soup and extra blankets so that he does not go into a shock. I will come and check her in the morning** .” Maarja felt a rising panic at the thought of being alone with the woman that she could not explain.

“ **Mother, I-** ” Bulda raised a hand to silence her and Maarja knew that would be that. 

“ **All will be well, my child. Sleep well here. Gods protect you.** ” And she was gone. 

Maarja made soup from the bones of elk and with herbs that hung by the fire. For all the shelter lacked in terms of creature comforts it was made up for in someone’s stalwart efforts to make it into a home. 

When Bulda left, the young boy returned. He looked unsure of himself, but he stood tall and proud despite it. 

“ **Where are your parent’s child?** ” Maarja asked as she passed him a bowl of steaming broth which he accepted gratefully. 

“ **My name is Beđar.** ” He evidently did not approve of being referred to as a child. 

“ **Beđar, do you have a guardian?** ” She adjusted her manner of speech, but would not be put off her line of questioning. 

“ **My sister.** ” Maarja had suspected this. 

“ **And who looks after her?** ” She asked, looking to Helená sleeping a few feet away. 

“ **The Gods** .” The boy said, with a challenge in his tone. When she looked back to him he dared her to say differently. 

“ **You have no parents?** ” Perhaps they were dead. 

“ **My parents beat us.** ” Beđar stated matter of factly with a shrug, before taking a drink of his supper. 

Maarja pieced together a picture of the life this brother and sister had known. How long had they been without? Making their own way in this harsh climate?

“ **Do you hunt?** ” Maarja asked.

“ **I have traps and I catch hares and grouse.** ” He stated proudly. Good. That meant they had food, and hides, and feathers. They could trade those too. 

“ **And who built this house?** ” Surely they had not done so. Maarja knew what it took to build lodging in a winter year, a child and a woman could not manage. 

“ **It was already built and my sister bought it for us.** ” He did not seem to question  _ how _ this had been done and Maarja feared the worst. 

“ **She bought it?** ” She confirmed.

“ **For 80 silvers.** ” He said proudly, no doubt lacking any real concept of trade. 

A fatherless girl with no support would not have been able to afford such a thing, let alone runaways. She had sold herself for this home, almost assuredly. Maarja would have done the same, to keep her brothers and sisters safe, to keep a roof over their head. 

“ **I will teach you to hunt large game and how to bring home deer when they are too large to carry.** ” Maarja told him. The decision came to her suddenly, but she would not take the promise back. 

“ **You will?** ” His mouth hung open like a fish.

“ **And I will show you how to patch the holes between the logs in winter to keep your lodging airtight.** ” Someone needed to teach him, it might as well be her. 

“ **Will you show to carve?** ” Carving was traditionally taught by fathers. He would teach how to carve the mantle over the hearth. He would teach how to carve their sigil into spears and bows and arrows. This child knew not the significance of what he asked. 

“ **I will show you how to carve** .” She would teach him all he needed to know about being a man or at the very least everything she knew. 

“ **Thank you.** ” He spoke with true gratitude and something about it hurt. 

“ **Don’t thank me yet, I haven’t even shown you anything yet.** ” She smiled at him then, realizing she’d been looking at him quite stern.

“ **Thank you for saving my sister** .” He smiled back. 

“ **Oh, that was the Gotthi.** ” Maarja was only an extra set of hands to fetch things. 

“ **But the Gotthi is gone and you are still here. You will see her through the night. You are her champion.** ” He seemed confused by her rebuttal.

Maarja wanted to get one thing straight-Helená needed no champion this day or any other. She had carried her family on her back through storm after storm. Her brother should look to her with admiration, not her just because she made him a few promises. 

“ **No. Your sister is her own champion. She slayed the beast and bore the pain of the hot blade. None did that for her. Do not give her glory to another.** ” Beđar looked to his sleeping sister, tucked beneath her furs. 

“ **Then you are her reward. The maiden that the warrior fights for.** ” He turned to Maarja again with renewed fervor. She had to keep herself from laughing. She was no maiden or damsel. No one would argue with that. 

“ **You have filled your head with romantic stories. She did it for you. For love of kin.** ” Maarja took his empty bowl from his hands and ruffled his hair.

“ **Well, kin looks all different ways doesn’t it?** ” How easily this boy accepted her into his life, proclaimed her kin. 

“ **I-yes it does. Now be off to sleep. You’ve had a lot of excitement for one day.** ” She gave up the debate. One would always lose to the persistence of a child. 

“ **Will you begin teaching me tomorrow?** ” He followed her around as she prepared the fire for the night. 

“ **Yes, tomorrow we will fix the holes in the walls and in the roof.** ” That took priority. Helená would come down with a fever if she wasn’t kept warm. 

“ **Like a real man!** ” He proclaimed and Maarja glanced aside quickly to make sure he hadn’t woken his sister. 

“ **Like a proper northerner, yes.** ” She smiled down at him. It felt like when her siblings were young and following her and Livili around copying their every move. 

He left for the other small bed in the corner and Maarjar laid upon her cloak by the fire, watching the flames until she slept. In them she thought she saw a pair of eyes, but she knew them to be a few feet away, behind closed lids. 


End file.
